


hey we're gonna be alright

by loafers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafers/pseuds/loafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>So what if Nick’s hanging out with Joe Jonas? Nick hangs out with lots of people, and he’s certainly not sleeping with all of them.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	hey we're gonna be alright

**Author's Note:**

> title literally from googling jonas brothers songs aha kms

Harry really, truly thought he could do it, honestly. He never would have agreed to it if he didn’t think he could. It worked ok last tour, but now - 

Now Nick’s proper famous, or more so than he was before at least, with the Breakfast Show and everything. Famous enough that it makes the papers when he stumbles out of clubs drunk at two AM.

And it definitely makes the papers when there’s a certain Jonas Brother under his arm.

Harry’s hands clench in the newspaper and Niall looks up, attention drawn from his breakfast by the crinkle of it. “What is it?” he says, or that’s what Harry thinks he says, it’s a little hard to tell through the mouthful of breakfast burrito. 

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles, and moves to close the paper, but then Louis is there, hanging over his shoulder, holding the paper open on the page with the picture of Nick and fucking Joe Jonas hanging off each other, laughing all crinkly eyed, mid-stumble. 

He slurps his tea right in Harry’s ear. “Uh oh, dear old Grimmy’s got a new friend,” Louis says, almost sing-songs, almost sounds _gleeful_ about it.

Niall grunts and waves at the paper, and Harry is helpless as Louis sets down his tea and reaches one arm over each of his shoulders to flatten the paper out onto the table so Niall can see. “Not a new friend,” Harry mutters, but it goes ignored.

“Mate,” Niall says sympathetically once he’s taken in the picture. Harry frowns and folds his hands in his lap. 

“I knew this would happen,” Louis says murderously, tapping the paper sharply, his eyes narrowed.

Harry’s frown deepens. “Knew what would happen? Nothing’s happening,” he says, looking at Niall imploringly for backup. Niall just shrugs and shoves the last bite of his breakfast in his mouth.

Zayn comes over then, all damp and fresh smelling from the shower. He eyes the paper with an air of casual interest and then steals Louis’ mug of tea and slumps down on the sofa. “Grimmy’s an idiot,” he says unhelpfully. 

“Heyyyy,” Harry says defensively, automatically. They all seem to have decided that the pictures mean precisely what Harry would like to continue being willfully ignorant of, which makes it a little difficult. 

So what if Nick’s hanging out with Joe Jonas? Nick hangs out with lots of people, and he’s certainly not sleeping with all of them. There’s nothing special about Joe Jonas. Well, nothing other than the fact that Nick gave him cheeky head in the Radio 1 toilets that one time, but that was a long time ago. Joe probably doesn’t even remember, though Harry wouldn’t be quick to forget the things Nick can do with his mouth.

“Zayn’s right though, you are _much_ prettier than Joe Jonas,” Louis says, nosing against Harry’s ear. Harry shrugs at him but can’t help smiling even though his boyfriend has a new boyfriend, because Louis’ breath tickles his ear and he’s being complimented. 

Liam bangs in from the back of the bus, having just finished phoning his mum. “What’s all this then?” he asks as he lumbers over. Louis gives Harry a squeeze and then straightens up, draping his arms around Liam’s neck instead. Liam pats his hip placatingly.

“Grimshaw’s found a new popstar to diddle,” Louis explains as Liam inspects the paper over his shoulder. 

“Louis,” Liam gasps automatically. Harry blushes despite himself, frowning at Louis’ crudeness. 

“It’s true!” Louis says, giving Liam back his body and going over to drape himself over Zayn instead, and to steal his tea back. “We hate him now. Forget The Wanted, he’s our new mortal enemy,” Louis announces with a commanding wave of his hand. 

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it is,” Harry mumbles from the table, eyes fixed on Nick’s elbow where it’s nudging at Joe’s side. 

Liam pats his shoulder and closes the newspaper. “There, there,” Liam says and Harry hates him a little bit, hates his entire band a little bit. Hates Nick and himself and the entire world but _especially_ , he hates Joe fucking Jonas.

And, christ, all this hating business is new and exhausting. “I’m going to lie down,” Harry says, even though it’s basically declaring to his horrible bandmates that he’s going to go mope. They don’t say anything, though Niall shakes his head and seems to tut a bit. 

“If I catch you in there looking up pictures on your phone I’ll shove the bloody thing down your throat,” Louis calls after him, and Harry just flips him off before disappearing into the bunks. 

He does look up pictures. There’s a fair few of them, and they’re worse than the one in the paper. Nick holds the door of the club and the car door for Joe, Joe has his hand on Nick’s back at one point, and in the shots through the taxi window you can see them sitting close, shoulders pressed together, Nick mumbling something close to Joe’s ear, Joe ducking and smiling. They look nice together, like they’re having fun. 

Mostly, Harry feels stupid. He knew this was going to happen, should have been expecting it, but even if he was, it doesn’t mean he had exactly _prepared_ himself to see it happening right there in front of him, published in print for the whole world to see. 

If Harry didn’t want them to be seeing other people while he’s away then he could have brought it up, he should have. It’s just, he didn’t expect it to happen so soon. He’s not even left the country yet, still on the UK leg of the tour, not even long enough for Nick’s bed to go cold from the lack of Harry’s body in it and he’s out there pulling and christ, not just any random either. Joe Jonas. Which is worse because they have a _history_ ; Joe was there before Harry was, not that Nick and him dated or anything but Nick never really dated _anyone_ before Harry and what if? What if Harry was just the dating gateway to hardcore monogamy with a Jonas Brother? It makes Harry nervous, antsy. 

And maybe, maybe Harry sort of wanted to believe that it _wouldn’t_ happen, though it’s awfully foolish of him. He’d never admit it out loud. Maybe he thought that they didn’t _need_ to have that conversation, that it was just mutually understood that they’d wait for each other, which makes Harry blush just thinking about it. He’s been so childish.

He’s being childish now, sulking in his bunk over some silly pictures that might not even mean anything. Although, wouldn’t that be awful, to have to do the horrible clingy thing and _ask_ Nick about them and then have to put on a brave face when Nick tells him he is fucking other people, fucking _Joe Jonas_ , who, shouldn’t he be in America, anyway? No, Harry doubts he could make it through that with his dignity intact. 

He resolves, not to not think about it, but to do his best to accept it and move on. _Things he can’t_ , and all that. They’ve a show to prepare for, he’s on his second world tour with his four best mates and that’s something. 

Enough something that he’s almost cheered enough to slink out of his bunk again of his own accord by the time Niall comes rolling in on top of him. He makes demands, wants a film or a game of FIFA or something, but Harry manages to curl himself up around Niall enough that Niall relents and lets them settle for a bit of a nap as the bus rolls along.

-

“We should go out tonight, find some girls to get pictures taken with, make him jealous, yeah?” Zayn says, arm hooked around Harry’s neck to bring him in for a bit of a cuddle. It’s unprompted, and it makes Harry love Zayn a little more that he can tell he’s still stewing over it regardless of the untroubled front he’s attempting for put forward to get Louis off his back.

It’s definitely an idea that appeals to his more immature side. Give Nick a taste of his own medicine. He’s even half considering it when his phone buzzes with a new text, and, fumbling his phone out of his pocket, of course it’s Nick. 

_good luck tonight popstar xx_

Harry knows he’s a lost cause because even with all the Jonas related relationship angst, such a simple text makes him smile soppily enough that Zayn laughs at him. Harry misses Nick, misses him enough to forget about his worries, so he tells him, types it out in a text with nine ‘x’s and a thank you attached, ever polite. More polite than Joe Jonas anyway, he hopes. 

He declines Zayn’s offer, and hopes that Nick declined Joe Jonas’ too.

-

All four of the boys are extra handsy during the show, and Harry’s caught up in a whirlwind of nipple tweaks and slaps to his bum, Zayn crooning in his face and Louis standing with his arm draped over his shoulder to sing for a bit, Liam petting his face and hair and then Niall straight up snuggling against his back for the better part of half a song. It’s nice, distracting, but Harry wants to tell them they’re all stupid if they think Nick would ever be jealous of them and their stage antics.

Nick’s very laid back about that kind of thing and it drives Harry a bit mad because he should be, too. He should be able to see pictures of Nick in the paper with other men and not have it ruin his day. He _asked_ for this. 

Or, well. He didn’t really _ask_. They hadn’t even discussed it, really. Harry’s working off the assumption that the arrangement from the last tour still stands, and Harry supposes Nick is too, what with this Joe Jonas business. 

A lot has changed since last tour, though. Last tour they were just stumbling into a casual thing with each other and it sucked to leave because Nick was fun to be around and the sex was good but it wasn’t hard, not like it has been this time around. A year has passed since the first tour and Nick means a lot more than a laugh and great fuck to Harry now, and he knows he does to Nick too, because they’ve told each other as much. It’s hard to avoid making some kind of declaration when you’re spending every possible moment together. 

But still, it’s Harry’s fault. He was too chicken to bring it up. Leaving is stressful enough, but to try and have a talk about how he doesn’t want Nick to sleep with anyone else while he’s the one up and leaving, that just seems impossible. And unreasonable.

Harry doesn’t _want_ to sleep with anyone else though, and, the thing is, there’s a part of Harry that thinks maybe, just maybe, Nick doesn’t want to either, despite whatever pictures are in the papers. It’s a possibility, a real one. There’s a definite chance that Nick never brought it up because he thought Harry’s silence on the matter meant that he intended to hook up on tour, and. And Harry _doesn’t_ , is the thing, and Nick should know that, at least. Harry should have told him that.

-

They’re all backstage, sweaty and a bit amped from the show still. Harry’s sitting on a bench against one the walls, bottle of water hanging from his mouth, caught between his teeth, staring at an open empty text message to Nick on his phone, tapping his fingers against the edge of it restlessly.

“Ruin your teeth like that,” Zayn says, suddenly at Harry’s side, and takes the bottle from Harry’s mouth, opens and drinks from it himself.

“I’m going to see Nick,” Harry says. Zayn looks at him like he’s mad. “I have to.”

“Lou,” Zayn calls and Louis’ head shoots up from where he’s bent over the sofa tickling Liam. 

Harry curls his fingers around Zayn’s forearm, hissing, “Zayn, don’t,” but it’s too late.

“This one thinks he’s driving to London tonight,” Zayn says with a tilt of his head in Harry’s direction. 

Louis lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “I think _not_ , Harold,” he says, properly straightened up now, hands on his hips and everything. 

Liam pops his head up over the back of the sofa. “That’s...” he starts, and then pauses, and Harry has to smile; he can practically see the cogs in Laim’s brain working as he tries to calculate the distance.

“It’s 200 kilometres, Li,” supplies Niall, sounding bored.

Instead of blushing or looking sheepish for requiring Niall’s assistance, Liam just frowns and nods solemnly, crosses his arms over his chest, and says firmly, “That’s too far.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Zayn joins in.

“I have to,” Harry says and it seems like all four of them sort of sigh and roll their eyes and generally deflate a bit. “I’m sorry. Be back in time for soundcheck tomorrow, promise.”

“Paul’s never going to let you,” Liam says. 

Harry levels Liam with a look. “Like you’ve never snuck out,” he says, and Louis’ face sort of does this impressed thing. 

“How’re you gonna get there? You haven’t got a car,” Niall says. 

None of them are being helpful, it’s a bit frustrating. Harry hadn’t really thought his grand romantic gesture plan through this far yet. 

“I’ll,” Harry pauses and presses his lips together, thinking. “I’ll get a taxi.”

“That’ll cost a shitload, mate,” Louis scoffs. 

“Shut it, Ibiza for a weekend,” Zayn says with a smirk. 

“Oh, alright, fine,” Louis throws up his arms, and then sags onto the couch, sulkily crossing his arms over his chest and that seems to be that, they’re all officially co-conspirators in the disaster that is Harry’s love life.

-

As much as they protested, Louis and Liam don’t have any qualms about creating a distraction during the troupe out to the bus so that Harry can slip away. They’ve ordered the taxi but there’s a bit of a wait, and Zayn slips out for a cigarette to wait with him. The way Louis and Liam are taunting Paul, there’s not any hurry to get back.

“It’s a long trip,” Zayn says. Harry startles a little, on edge from getting away with something not allowed, and then settles back against the wall and shrugs.

“S’only couple of hours,” he says, shaking his head. “I can sleep, or,” he frowns, and shoves at his hair, pushing it up off his face. He’s still a bit sweaty from the stage, a bit jittery too, wired. “I’m going to tell Nick I’m not going to sleep with anyone on tour.”

“You’re going to ask him not to fuck around while you’re away,” Zayn corrects him.

Harry blinks, then nods. “Yeah but me too, I don’t want anyone else. I just,” Harry swallows, and then looks Zayn in the eye, frown melting off his face. “I just want him,” he says, voice a bit faint.

Zayn looks at him for a moment with what Harry thinks at first is pity and then realises it’s fondness. He claps him on the back, says, “Yeah, mate. You probably should tell him that in person, then.”

“Yeah. You think? Yeah, ok,” Harry says quickly, nodding to himself. He leans off the wall as headlights approach, and then steps forward when he sees it’s his taxi. He turns to Zayn and pulls him into a tight hug. “Back soon,” he promises. Zayn pats his back and lets him go.

-

Harry’s almost got one knee on the bed when Nick’s eyes fly open, he blinks and then he screams, hoarse but loud enough that it startles Harry and he panics, falling backwards off the side of the bed, landing hard on his arse.

“Oh christ,” Nick gasps, appearing at the edge of the bed clutching at his chest. He’s breathing a little hard. “I thought you were a Jonas brother.” 

That makes Harry frown. He scrambles up off the floor and rubs his bum, a bit sore from landing so hard. “Thought he’d gotten in a window or something,” Nick mutters, rolling flat onto his back and holding his hand to his forehead, fingers tangled in his hair as his breath evens out again.

“Aren’t you meant to be in Nottingham?” Nick says, eyeing Harry suspiciously. “What time is it?”

It’s almost two, but he knows better than to tell Nick that. “I was, and now I’m here,” Harry mumbles with a shrug. 

“Alright then,” Nick says happily and holds out his arm. “Thanks for the heart attack. Nearly killed the nation’s most important radio personality. A cuddle should make it better though.”

Harry smiles and climbs into Nick’s bed, curling up against his chest, Nick’s arm around him. He leaves his clothes on because, that’s right, he’s not meant to stay, he just needs to say what he’s got to say and then start the drive back but fuck, if he isn’t tired and Nick doesn’t feel amazing, all warm and cosy and smelling like home.

“We need to talk,” Harry mumbles, broken by a yawn, already a little fuzzy with sleep.

Nick pats his back and shushes him, seems to be in the same half asleep state already himself. “Shh, in the morning,” he says, and goddamnit, Harry falls asleep.

-

“I thought you were a dream,” Nick says, jostling Harry’s shoulder.

“What?” Harry squints at him, and then panics at the light in the room, checking his watch and then flopping back down on Nick’s chest when he realises the light’s just from Nick’s weird spaceage alarm clock. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Nick mumbles, lips against Harry’s temple. Harry can’t help it, tips his head up to kiss Nick’s mouth. Nick hums happily into it and Harry’s brain is really struggling to remember why he _is_ here, he’s supposed to be in Nottingham, oh.

“Jonas,” Harry mumbles against Nick’s mouth, fingers squeezing Nick’s arm.

“Nope, Nick. God, has it been that long?” Nick frowns at him, pulling away. 

Harry shakes his head, scrambling out of Nick’s arms to sit up, schooling his face into serious discussion mode. “Don’t fuck Joe Jonas,” he says, and then thinks to add, hopefully, “please?” 

“Why would I do _that_?” Nick gasps. He looks a bit offended. 

“Because I’m on tour and we,” Harry pauses. He shouldn’t have to explain this. “There were pictures.”

Nick makes an annoyed noise and throws the covers back, sliding out of bed and stretching his arms up over his head, twisting his spine a bit. Harry’s suddenly worried that Nick’s annoyed with _him_ , which is not one of the possible outcomes to this scenario that Harry has considered. 

“Weren’t they awful? He was all over me,” Nick says.

“You,” Harry pauses, swallows, reconsiders, “didn’t fuck him?”

“No! God.” Nick looks scandalised. 

“Oh.” Harry sits back a bit and looks at Nick, his long skinny legs sticking out the bottom of his underwear, big baggy t-shirt hanging off him. “Good,” Harry says. 

“Yes,” Nick agrees, looking at Harry a bit like he thinks he’s gone mad, but also smirking like he’s pleased about it. “Come on, let me get a grope in in the shower before you’re off conquering the world again, would you?”

Nick holds out his hand and Harry takes it.

-

It’s probably the laziest, sleepiest handjob Harry’s ever given anyone, but Nick seems pleased enough with it, massaging conditioner into Harry’s hair as Harry jerks him off. It’s very nice, the nicest, maybe, and Harry sighs against Nick’s collarbone.

“I don’t want us to sleep with other people while I’m away,” Harry mumbles, mouthing against Nick’s warm, wet skin. 

Nick doesn’t respond for a long moment, just jostles him a bit back further under the water and tugs his head back to rinse his hair. With his head titled back there’s no where to look but Nick’s eyes, and Harry forgets about the handjob he’s supposed to be giving because he’s a bit concerned by Nick’s silence in the wake of his confession.

“Hm,” Nick says eventually, once Harry’s hair is clean of soap. He pushes Harry against the wall of the shower and kisses him, nudging his hips forward against Harry’s own and his hand caught between them. 

Harry wraps his hand around him properly again, strokes him a little quicker so Nick breathes in harsh through his nose and bites at Harry’s bottom lip. “That’s a long time for a virile youth like yourself,” he mumbles. “Think you can manage it?”

“Yes, I don’t think I have a choice, I,” Harry breaks off with a gasp, because Nick gets his hand tight around Harry’s cock too, and then knocks Harry’s hand away from Nick’s own and wraps his fingers around them both. 

Harry’s hand falls away, and then rushes up to grip Nick’s jaw as he kisses him fiercely, hips pushing into Nick’s hand. Nick kisses him back just as hard. “We don’t have much time, you can continue your pitch while you make me a coffee,” Nick says, making all sorts of assumptions but Harry’s fine with it. 

“Mmph,” Harry manages, and the rest is rushed, both of them aware of the late hour. Harry holds Nick close so their chests slide together, ruts against Nick’s hand and Nick’s cock against his and they both come, one soon after the other, and don’t even have a minute to wallow in it, Nick just presses a quick kiss to his mouth and rinses their come off their bodies and his hand and then shuts the water off and hops out of the shower. 

Harry feels a bit winded and dizzy, the lack of sleep getting to him in his post orgasm daze. How did he think he was going to make the drive back? He could just crawl back into Nick’s bed for a bit. The drive’s only two hours, as long as he leaves by noon it should be fine.

Harry yawns as he potters about Nick’s kitchen, naked like he always is, hunting for Nick’s favourite travel mug as his coffee machine comes to life. It’s a big expensive thing Harry bought Nick when he landed the Breakfast Show, and Harry suspects Nick doesn’t even use it, doesn’t even know how, even though Harry’s given him several lessons. 

He’s watching the last of the coffee drip into the mug bleary eyed when Nick emerges from his room, all dressed and coiffed and heart-stoppingly attractive as he leans against the doorway. 

“You think you can handle it?” Nick says, seemingly out of the blue, but Harry’s mind snaps back to their aborted conversation in the shower and his whole reason for being there pretty quickly. 

“We can skype,” Harry says with a shrug of his shoulder. “It’s not that long. We’ll be back for breaks and,” Harry sighs. “I don’t think I could sleep with anyone except you even if I tried. Wouldn’t be fair, since I’m in love with you, and everything.”

“You can be in love with someone and still fuck around,” Nick says slowly. Harry feels a bit like he’s sinking. Nick wants to fuck around. He hadn’t really considered how to handle it if Nick said he wanted to keep fucking around, shit.

“I know. I just, I’m not going to, and,” Harry shrugs, small and defeated. “Never mind, if you don’t want to, like. It’s fine. I’m fine. We can just.”

“No,” Nick cuts in. “I just don’t want you agreeing to something unreasonable. No skin off my nose, hm? I don’t exactly half the population of the world throwing themselves at me.”

“Shut up, you’ve a Jonas brother gagging for it, at least,” Harry says. 

“Don’t remind me,” Nick shudders and then Harry’s pouring milk in Nick’s coffee and Nick’s phone is buzzing announcing the taxi’s arrival and he’s not really sure where they stand. 

“Look, I love you,” Nick says as he approaches Harry. Harry puts the lid on the travel mug and takes a sip to ensure it’s acceptable. He hands it to Nick and Nick takes it, and then takes Harry’s hand and pulls him close. “If this is what you want to do, this is what we will do,” he says and presses a kiss against Harry’s jaw and gives him a hug, one arm wrapped tight around his waist while he takes a long gulp of his coffee. “Perfect,” Nick smiles, smug, and presses another kiss to Harry’s mouth.

Harry wraps his arms around Nick’s back gratefully, turns his body to his properly and allows himself a long moment with his face buried in Nick’s lovely shoulder. He just feels so good, smells so nice, so much like home. Harry considers for a reckless moment the possibility of quitting his life and taking up permanent residence in Nick’s bed.

“I just saw those pictures of you and Joe and I felt like, like my throat was being ripped out,” Harry says quietly. “I know it’s, with me leaving, it’s a little unreasonable for me to ask you...”

Nick doesn’t laugh, like he always used to at the start when things got serious. No, now he’s serious too, giving Harry’s waist a squeeze and then pulling back to look him in the eye. “There’s going to be pictures, Harry. I’m very famous. Everyone wants a picture with me.”

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, smiling despite, or maybe because, he’s being mocked. 

“You really drove all the way from bloody Nottingham to make sure I didn’t want to sleep with Joe Jonas?”

“Not just Joe Jonas,” Harry says with a frown, preparing to explain his position all over again if Nick still hasn’t understood what he’s trying to say. 

“Nor Kevin or, what’s the other one?” 

“Nick,” Harry says.

“Yes? Oh, that’s his _name_ ,” Nick says, scrunching his nose. 

Harry sighs. “You’re very funny.”

Nick shoves at his shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. I know what you mean. Now perk up pop star, no one likes a maudlin heart throb.” 

Harry holds his pout for a second longer and then grins, leaning over to kiss him again. “You’re late for work,” he says. 

“Yeah well, at least I didn’t go AWOL like a certain someone,” Nick tuts. 

“It was important. Now go to work. You’re enraging your driver.”

“Alright, bossy,” Nick says, slipping out of Harry’s arms. He gives Harry a bit of a wave salute kind of thing from the doorway and Harry laughs, and then blows him a kiss so their goofiness matches. 

Nick goes, and Harry crawls back into Nick’s bed, cool cotton and the smell of Nick against his bare skin. He feels good, like he’s accomplished what he set out to do, and just from the regular relaxed, contented buzz he seems to get whenever he’s with Nick, whenever Nick tells him he loves him. 

He sets his alarm for twelve and it’s easy to fall back asleep with the knowledge that Nick’ll be home at half ten to wake him anyway, that he can squeeze in a little more time together before he’s back on the road to rejoin his band. Maybe they can get some lunch, go to that sushi place they like, or maybe they could cook, or maybe, hopefully, Nick’ll just crawl back in bed for the last hour and half they have together.


End file.
